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  Contents

  Map

  Prologue

  Fitz and the Witch: Part I

  -Interlude I-

  Fitz and the Witch: Part II

  -Interlude II-

  Fitz and the Witch: Part III

  -Interlude III-

  Fitz and the Witch: Part IV

  -Interlude IV-

  Beverly and the Bandit King: Part I

  -Interlude V-

  Beverly and the Bandit King: Part II

  -Interlude VI-

  Beverly and the Bandit King: Part III

  -Interlude VII-

  Hayley and the Beast: Part I

  -Interlude VIII-

  Hayley and the Beast Part: II

  -Interlude IX-

  Gerald and the Norlander: Part I

  -Interlude X-

  Gerald and the Norlander: Part II

  -Interlude XI-

  A Dog’s Tale: Part I

  -Interlude XII-

  A Dog’s Tale: Part II

  -Interlude XIII-

  A Visitor Comes to Uxley

  Finale

  The Mermaid of Colbridge

  Cast of Characters

  Share your thoughts!

  How to get Battle at the River for free

  Heart of the Crown: Chapter 1

  Also by Paul J Bennett

  A few words from Paul

  About the Author

  Mercerian Tales:

  Stories of the Past

  Paul J Bennett

  Prologue

  Bodden

  Summer 960 MC*

  (*Mercerian Calendar)

  The wood in the fireplace crackled as Gerald Matheson dropped another log onto the embers. Pausing a moment to watch the ensuing blaze erupt, he returned to the comfort of his chair, satisfied in the knowledge that the room would soon heat up. Princess Anna lay on the floor with her feet to the fire while her back was comforted by the body of her massive hound, Tempus. As she waited for the warmth to curl around her, her body was snuggled into a blanket to ward off the evening's chill.

  Baron Richard Fitzwilliam reclined nearby, sipping wine from a tankard while his daughter, Beverly, sat oiling her sword. Dame Hayley Chambers, the recently knighted King's Ranger, was chatting with her quietly, as the fire sparked back to life.

  “It’s almost like old times, Gerald,” commented Fitz.

  Gerald smiled, “Not quite, my lord; we’ve all gotten a little older.”

  A small laugh escaped the princess, “Not all of us are old, Gerald.”

  “Are you sure,” said Fitz, before Gerald could respond to the princess's good-natured banter, “that you don’t want me to accompany you to Westland, Highness? The Knights of Bodden would be only too happy to act as your escort.”

  “No, Baron. Much as I appreciate the offer, you’re needed here to protect the border. I don’t want to come back to Merceria, only to find it overrun. Besides, I’ve got Beverly and Hayley here, along with my other new knights; I’ll be safe enough.”

  The room quieted, and then Beverly put down her sword. “Remember when you used to tell me stories in front of the fire, Father?”

  Anna, who only a moment ago was laying tranquilly on her beloved pet, perked up. “Stories? Do tell.”

  “Baron Fitzwilliam used to tell all manner of stories to young Lady Beverly. She loved them,” explained Gerald.

  “I love stories, too,” a now animated Anna, gushed. "Would you be willing to regale us with one, Baron?"

  “Well,” said Fitz, as he absently stroked his beard, “what kind of stories do you like?”

  Anna sat up, turning to face the others with a sparkle in her eye. Even Tempus’ ears picked up. “I like all kinds of stories.”

  “You realize,” said Gerald, “once you start, there’s no stopping. You’ll be telling stories all night long.”

  “What if we took turns?” suggested Beverly.

  “Oooh, even better,” begged Anna.

  “I’m afraid I don't remember any of the stories I used to tell Beverly. It's been many years since we had a young girl in the Keep,” responded the baron.

  “How about when you first encountered Albreda?” asked Beverly. “I've often wondered how you two met each other. I understand it was some time ago.”

  “Now, that,” said Fitz, getting into the spirit of it, “is an interesting story, an interesting story indeed. It all started back in ‘33 when I was still a young man…”

  Fitz and the Witch: Part I

  The Thing in the Woods

  Spring 933 MC

  Lord Richard Fitzwilliam stepped forward, sizing up his opponent carefully, shield ready, should he need it. In front of him, his sparring partner waited, shifting his feet as he so often did. They had gone through this countless times before; the man was quite capable of predicting Fitz's moves, and the lord struggled to think of a tactic that might catch him off guard. Finally, he settled on a straightforward attack, striking with a stabbing motion, his sword easily blocked by a shield.

  “You’ll have to do better than that, Lord,” the man said.

  “You’re positively chatty today, Gerald, let’s see how you handle my shield.” His line spoken, he stepped forward, using the rim of his shield to drive his opponent back. Fitz was fast, but Sergeant Gerald Matheson was faster. He pivoted on his feet and countered with his own shield, striking that of his attacker, rim to rim, sending a shock up the lord’s arm.

  “That’s a good counter, my friend,” said Lord Richard.

  “It better be, Lord, I learned it from you.”

  “You know, my dear fellow, it amazes me how quickly you pick things up.”

  “I constantly practice, Lord,” explained Gerald.

  “I’ve watched you. You know, you really should slow down a little, enjoy life a bit more.” As soon as he finished his words, he realized his mistake, for his friend was still mourning the loss of his family last autumn.

  “There’s little to enjoy, Lord. I want only to kill Norlanders.”

  It was hard for Fitz to see him in such anguish. Gerald had become obsessed, training whenever he wasn’t on duty. He knew the man was burying himself in his work, losing his humanity; soon even the remnants of his friend would be burned away by his pursuit of revenge. It was at this precise moment that inspiration hit him.

  “I have a job for you, Gerald,” Lord Richard proclaimed. “I want you to lead a patrol.”

  The young warrior eased his stance to stare at Fitz in disbelief, “Me, Lord?”

  “Yes, Gerald, you. There’s little else I can teach you about fighting, but plenty more for you to learn about leading men. I think the experience would do you good.”

  Gerald was a plain-spoken man, not one to brag about his achievements. This unexpected praise left him staring back in discomfort, unsure how to respond.

  “Well?” prompted Fitz. “What do you think?”

  “What do I think?”

  “Yes, man. Would you like to lead a patrol?”

  “You’re asking me? Shouldn’t you just command me?”

  Lord Richard looked at him with compassion, “No, Gerald, I’m asking you. Do you think you’re ready?”

  “Aye, Lord,” his sparring partner replied, though to Fitz’s mind, the man was less
than enthusiastic.

  “Very well, then. You’re a Sergeant, so I order you to take out a patrol. Take the route to the Greene farm, you know the way, we’ve been there often enough.”

  “Aye, Lord,” said Gerald, straightening visibly.

  At this moment one of the older knights, Sir James, entered the courtyard. “Your Lordship?” he enquired.

  “Yes, Sir James?” acknowledged Fitz.

  “The baron wants to see you in the map room.”

  “Very well,” replied Lord Richard, “tell him I’m on the way.” He turned back to his sparring partner, “It seems this practice is over, my friend, I have been summoned by my brother. Best if I don’t keep him waiting, and you need to be on your way if you want to be back before dark.”

  “Aye, Lord,” grumbled Gerald before heading off to the stables.

  Fitz hoped leading a patrol would bring the man out of his self-imposed exile. Since the death of his family, Gerald had become withdrawn and solitary; perhaps forcing him to look after a patrol was just the thing he needed to bring him out of his grief.

  He was still musing on this very idea as his feet carried him toward the map room, up the spiral staircase to the highest room in Bodden Keep.

  * * *

  Baron Edward Fitzwilliam stood at the map table, a large map of the barony spread out before him. Sir James stood to his left, while Sir Rodney was to his right, his large nose buried in a handkerchief. As Lord Richard entered the room, the knight let out an earth-shattering sneeze. The sound startled all within the room as it echoed through the chamber.

  “You should get that looked at, Sir Rodney,” the baron chided.

  “Sorry, my lord,” the knight turned bright crimson as he apologized.

  “You might try some hot cider,” suggested Lord Richard as he entered. “My sergeant tells me it does wonders.”

  Baron Edward eyed him with a look of annoyance, “Perhaps now that my brother has deigned to present himself, we can now get down to business?”

  “Of course, Brother,” Lord Richard replied.

  Edward cleared his throat, then began, “As you are no doubt aware, raiders from Norland have been particularly active of late. In the past few months, they have attacked five of our farms, stealing what they can, and burning the rest. I needn’t tell you our stocks of food are dangerously low, leaving us no choice but to resort to hunting in order to make up the shortfall.”

  Edward stabbed down with his finger. “This,” he continued, “is the Whitewood, as you all know. It lies just to our northeast and has an abundant source of game, but of late our hunters have come under increasingly dangerous attacks from the creatures that dwell therein.”

  “You mean the animals?” asked a surprised Lord Richard.

  Edward gave his brother another look of annoyance, “Yes, I mean animals. Something is agitating them, making them more aggressive.”

  “Are you trying to tell me,” said Lord Richard with a grin, “that the squirrels are attacking?”

  “This is no laughing matter, Richard. Men have died.”

  This new information immediately sobered Lord Richard. He didn’t pay much attention to the affairs of the barony; his job was to command the soldiers stationed here. “I’m sorry, Brother, I had no idea.”

  “Perhaps,” said the baron irritably, “if you paid more attention to what is happening around you, instead of spending all day exercising your sword arm, you would have known about this.”

  Fitz nodded his agreement and did his best to look contrite. “You were saying?”

  “Attacks have been on the rise lately,” the baron continued, “and seem to be coordinated.”

  They all fell silent at the thought. It was Sir Rodney that spoke first, “Are you suggesting, Lord, that some type of creature is commanding them?”

  “Possibly,” said the baron, “and I’ve already arranged for help, a King's Ranger.”

  The knights nodded their agreement; the King’s Rangers are known as expert trackers. One of them must surely be familiar with the Whitewood.

  “May I make a suggestion?” put forth Lord Richard.

  “By all means, Brother.”

  “Perhaps an escort, to keep the ranger protected if he should need it. There may still be Norlanders in the area.”

  “For once, I agree with you,” said the baron. “I want you to take Sir Rodney and Sir James with you, along with four new knights.”

  Lord Richard frowned, “New knights?”

  “Yes, Brother, they just came in this morning. All from the finest families, I’m told.”

  Lord Richard noticed the look of mirth on his brother's face; breaking in new knights was his least favourite pastime. “Just a moment, Lord,” he said as he rushed to the window.

  He looked to the west, but Gerald was just disappearing over the far hill as he watched; too late to recall him. He would have liked to have his sergeant with him to help handle the knights. “Damn,” he swore.

  The baron, misinterpreting his curse, exploded, “I’ve had enough of this attitude of yours, Richard. When are you going to take life seriously? I am the baron, and as my brother, you are the heir. If I were to die, you would be responsible for all of this,” he said, pointing at the map to emphasize his point.

  Fitz turned suddenly at the outburst, surprised by the venom in his brother's voice. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t upset over that, I had something else in mind. I-”

  “Get going,” the baron interrupted, “you’ll need to ride out as soon as possible. The ranger is staying at the Blue Swallow, you can meet him there and then ride out together. I’ll send word that you’re coming. Make sure you get to the bottom of this, Richard.”

  “Aye, Lord.” Fitz immediately obeyed, for knowing his brother well, he recognized he would brook no further discussion on the matter. He could see the strain of authority was not sitting well on Edward’s shoulders and, truth be told, Fitz didn’t envy his brother's position; being the baron of a remote location like Bodden would be a difficult task.

  * * *

  After assembling in the courtyard, they rode into the village to find the ranger. Lord Richard took the lead, with Sir Rodney riding beside him, his nose once again, buried in a handkerchief. The fresh faces of the new knights followed in pairs with Sir James bringing up the rear.

  An explosive sneeze erupted from Sir Rodney, and Fitz looked at him in sympathy, “Did you try some hot cider?”

  “No, my lord, there wasn’t time.”

  “Perhaps you should consider sitting this one out?”

  “No, Lord, I can’t leave you with this lot,” he jabbed his thumb behind him. “Even with Sir James, they're likely to be a handful.”

  “This may surprise you, Rodney, but I’ve dealt with their type before,” as he said this, he witnessed a fallen look cross the older knight's face, so he quickly added, “but I appreciate your presence. Tell me, what do you know about them?”

  Sir Rodney finished wiping his nose and tucked his handkerchief away as he answered, “They all come from wealthy families, Lord.”

  “That’s no surprise. Show me a knight that doesn’t.”

  “Perhaps I should say wealthier than most? Sir Lionel there has a reputation for duelling. He earned that scar across his nose in Wincaster.”

  “I suppose that at least means the man knows how to fight,” Fitz mused.

  “Aye, my lord, but he lacks discipline. I fear it will take a lot of work to break him in.”

  Lord Richard glanced over his shoulder at the horsemen following, “I’ll keep that in mind. What about the rest?”

  “The shorter one is Sir Dudley, probably the strongest of the group, and the quietest. He doesn’t talk much. I suspect he’ll fit in rather easily. The tall, thin man is Sir Ethan; his father serves on the King’s Council. We’ll have to mind our manners around him; his family’s got some pull.” Sir Rodney let out a sudden sneeze and reached again for his handkerchief, “Sorry, my lord.”

  Fi
tz waited for the man to finish before he spoke, “And the last one? The one with the neatly trimmed beard?”

  “That,” said Sir Rodney, “is Sir Maynard. He’s the most outspoken of the group, and I would say their unofficial leader.”

  “Leader? Are you saying we’re going to have to break up this little band?”

  “I suppose that depends,” mused Sir Rodney.

  “Depends on what?”

  “On how they do on this expedition, Lord.”

  Lord Richard looked at the old knight and smiled, “That will be your job, Rodney. I hope you’re up to it.”

  The man stiffened in his saddle, “Of course, Lord, I won’t let a little thing like a cold get in the way.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Fitz responded, grateful to have an ally on this patrol, even if it wasn't Gerald.

  They pulled up in front of the Blue Swallow to see a rough looking man astride a weather-beaten horse, his dark green cloak thrown back, revealing the glint of chainmail beneath.

  “Lord Richard, I presume,” the man remarked. “I’m Brock Dayton, King's Ranger.”

  Fitz pulled his horse up beside Dayton and extended his hand. “Glad to meet you, though I must admit to being a little surprised to see a King's Ranger this far north.”